


Eight Shove My Head Under

by kxmjxngs



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt, Friendship, Inspired by Music, M/M, Park Chanyeol-centric, Pre-Slash, The Author Regrets Nothing, all of nini's dogs, and sehun's dog, they're there, this story gave me anxiety the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxmjxngs/pseuds/kxmjxngs
Summary: He looks down at the ground, shoulders hunching up just slightly. He wonders if any of his musings are true or if all of them are wrong or if—if maybe he hasn’t thought hard enough to find the actual truth.“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”Chanyeol blinks and it takes a while for his brain to process the words that just filtered through his ears, but once they’re good and processed, lodged in his head and rattling around like the tail of a snake, he feels his knees lose their strength, locking to keep supporting him.Kyungsoo has always been his anchor.When did it get to this?





	Eight Shove My Head Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nutaolla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutaolla/gifts).



> you can all give a big thanks to park chanyeol and his song "hands" for this because that is the only reason i wrote any of this.
> 
> enjoy!

There’s something itching at the back of his mind, something he feels he should probably pay attention to, but he shoves it away as he works on clicking the keys at the correct time, listening to Jongin’s words, letting them ricochet in his skull even as Baekhyun shrieks while narrowly avoiding getting killed. His heart is beating so fast in his chest, and he’s pretty sure Junmyeon just let out a yell, but he can’t focus on anything other than the blade coming at him, on dodging and sending his own retaliation.

“Ah, we won!” Jongin cries, and Chanyeol watches the words show up on the screen. Jongin stands up in excitement, barely managing to rescue his laptop from tumbling to an untimely demise, grin bright on his tired features. Baekhyun lets out a sigh of relief, slumping happily, and Junmyeon groans as he sets his electronic to the side and stretches stiff limbs. Chanyeol remains still, though, staring at the declaration of their triumph on his screen.

It doesn’t feel like a real victory, and he knows it’s not a real victory—wouldn’t be considered as one to anyone outside of their group right here. But Jongin is dancing and tugging Baekhyun up off the couch to dance with him—although it’s more of bouncing in place and wiggling his hips with awkward stomps—and Junmyeon is smiling like the last day of no sleep and no showers and barely any food or drink throughout the entirety of their campaign has been worth it, like it means something.

And maybe it does, to their little group, and Chanyeol lets the disbelieving smile bloom on his face, stretch the corners of his mouth wide as he locks eyes with Junmyeon and lets out a cheerful laugh because they did win and maybe it did mean something.

Junmyeon is dragging his hands through limp hair, and his face is slack with exhaustion, and Jongin’s bright skin is dull, and Baekhyun’s eyes are puffy and red, but they’re all smiling because they won and this meant something to them. It means something to Chanyeol, too, and he beams and stands up on prickling limbs and joins in the awkward wiggle-bounce dance Baekhyun and Jongin are doing, and Junmyeon joins in with minimal coaxing.

It’s only after a long nine hours rest on the living room floor, all four of them curled atop spread out blankets laid upon heating mats and heads resting on fluffy pillows, and hot showers that left Chanyeol’s skin feeling sore but fresh, and a cold trek through the unforgiving winter streets to Kyungsoo’s apartment, that the feeling of victory drains away.

Kyungsoo’s glare is unforgiving even as he opens the door for the four of them and gives them tea, placing cups down just shy of too hard, wide eyes boring into them. It makes Chanyeol’s spine stiffen and he wonders when this gap between them forged, looking at the sheepish but relaxed looks on the faces of the rest of his friends.

“We ended up winning,” Jongin comments as Kyungsoo sits with his own mug, thick eyebrows furrowed in something like a frown, but not quite right. Chanyeol looks down at his tea and keeps quiet. “It was awesome. There was this moment when—”

“You guys need to stop with these games,” Kyungsoo mutters, and the atmosphere feels a bit tense after the words drop, Jongin’s excited smile slipping off his face a bit, shoulders hunching up just slightly. Chanyeol kind of wants to reach over and pull the guy close, tell him to not be brought down by the words, tell him that Kyungsoo’s just looking out for them and loves them and just wants them to spend their time doing something healthier. But—but he also doesn’t want to subject himself to the hard stare, so he continues to stare at his tea, smiling awkwardly despite how tension reigns in the lines of his jaw. Junmyeon rubs the back of his neck bashfully, and looks off to the side.

Baekhyun just laughs, shaking his head as he takes a sip of his tea, letting out an exaggerated shiver. “No need to be so cold, Kyungsoo,” he chuckles, and Chanyeol doesn’t know how they sound genuine even though Chanyeol knows that if he tried to laugh right now, the sound would be hollow. “Once in a while isn’t going to hurt us.”

“Tell that to the bags under your eyes,” Kyungsoo grumbles, and his expression shifts just slightly to reveal the concern that seems semi-absent from his tone. It’s what lifts the tension just slightly, makes Jongin’s shoulders lower a bit, the corners of his lips twitching up just slightly as Baekhyun whines.

“Don’t remind me,” he moans, pushing the glasses he had donned up the bridge of his nose. “Why do you think I’m wearing these? It’s going to be a week before these go away,” he cries, slumping against the back of his seat dramatically. Kyungsoo just shakes his head, and there’s fondness lining the angles of his face, and Chanyeol feels like maybe his laugh wouldn’t be so hollow now, but he doesn’t dare test it.

He shifts instead, brings the cup to his lips, lets the liquid press against the seam of his lips, but doesn’t let it enter, letting the steam bathe his face instead before lowering the cup once more, swallowing the saliva that gathered in his mouth instead. He feels Kyungsoo’s eyes on him, and he meets them with his own, lets his gaze linger.

He wonders if Kyungsoo feels the distance, too—wonders if he, too, is confused about where it came from and why it arrived. All he knows is that things had been different since high school ended. Maybe it was college that drew them apart or maybe it was something else, but Chanyeol doesn’t like dwelling on it. Kyungsoo’s still one of his closest friends, and he’s sure time will be what sorts things out between them.

It’d be better than hosting an awkward conversation between two people who haven’t the slightest idea as to what’s wrong either.

“I have to go pick up my dogs from Sehun now,” Jongin declares after a moment more of sitting, setting down his mug and picking at the sleep still lining his eyes, sniffling a bit. Chanyeol hopes the guy doesn’t end up sick again. The last time was more than enough, and he’s fairly certain Jongdae will kill him if it happens again.

“Thanks for the tea, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol coughs, smiling at him. The male’s eyebrows furrow just slightly, confusion marring his expression—concern and disappointment mixing in. Chanyeol feels like they need to talk, but the high of their victory he had been riding when they came is all but gone, and his hands feel clammy as he sets his full mug down and tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat while he goes to slide on his shoes, Jongin following after him.

Junmyeon talks to Kyungsoo in a low voice, but Chanyeol doesn’t try to parse the meaning of the words. The first time seeing Kyungsoo after a while of non-communication is always the hardest, and Chanyeol knows their next interaction will be nothing like this one, but the stiff awkwardness comes as a shock to his system as always, inspires nothing but worry about the state of their friendship—worry that’ll dissipate the next time they interact, _that_ he knows.

Jongin steps out first after waving good-bye to Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, and Chanyeol follows after him after bidding his own farewells. Junmyeon hurries out afterwards, breaths coming out in white clouds as he tucks his fingers into his gloves, pulling his beanie over his flat hair, cheeks already turning red. It makes Chanyeol tug at the ear flaps on his own hat, making sure it’s in place before they’re turning to meander down the street in a shivering huddle, awkward in their steps as white clouds puff in their wake.

There’s no snow or ice on the ground, just the bitter cold, and it’s weirdly fitting, Chanyeol thinks, gazing at his surroundings. Jongin’s face has some of its color back even though the cold draws it out a bit, like it’s trying to steal the warmth in his face to bring it into the weather. It doesn’t work, but Chanyeol wishes it did just so that he wouldn’t be freezing, cold denim rubbing against the insides of his thighs and the backs of his knees.

Sehun’s apartment is warm, courtesy of Junmyeon gladly covering the heating bill, unwilling to freeze, and Sehun himself is curled on the couch, four dogs taking up the majority of the space on the cushions, his face slack with sleep as the television casts odd shadows on his face. It paints an interesting picture, and Chanyeol holds back the snort of amusement even as he takes out his phone to snap a quick picture before Jongin’s presence has three heads popping up. The sounds of claws clicking and sliding on the hardwood floor has Sehun’s head bobbing up, eyes blearily blinking open.

Junmyeon goes over to him almost immediately after kicking his shoes off, barely avoiding the stampede of dogs; carding his fingers through Sehun’s fluffy hair once he reaches the couch, the younger nuzzling up into the touch. Chanyeol watches the interaction and wonders if he and Kyungsoo were ever that close, if they ever had interactions like that, if they ever will.

He wonders if he and Junmyeon are even close enough for that—wonders if Junmyeon has ever greeted him like that, would ever greet him like that. He wonders if he should’ve left the apartment at all, good mood drained out of him at such an alarming rate, it’s almost like it was never there.

He meets Sehun’s gaze and gives a bright smile that pulls on the stiff muscles of his face and makes him feel like a liar. It has his nose burning and the tips of his ears turning red, but his ears are hidden under the flaps of his hat and his nose is red from the cold—the deceit is hidden. Sehun returns the smile with a sleepy one of his own that has his eyes closing as his little dog jumps off the couch to join the other three at Jongin’s feet as Jongin hooks leashes on each ones neck and bestows cuddles and kisses with plump lips and warm smiles.

Chanyeol wonders if Jongin would ever greet him like that, has ever greeted him like that, and decides that he very much should not have left the apartment after all, throat tight and chest aching. It feels like his shirt is pressing into his skin, pressing into his bones, into his organs, and everything is just tight, tight— _tight_.

“I hope they weren’t too much trouble,” Jongin says, breaking the comfortable silence, although Chanyeol feels like he’s suffocating. He wants to be back out in the cold where the chill provides a reason for the burn in his nose and cheeks, and where the ache in his chest can be attributed to the shivers that seize his body as he walks. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, letting out a semi-genuine laugh as Jongin rises and ends up tangled in the three leashes, awkwardly trying to shift out of it without falling.

He wordlessly offers his arm for balance, watching attentively as he steps out of the mix, dogs jumping at his legs, letting out soundless laughs at the amusing sight while Sehun burrows into the couch cushions, Junmyeon going over to collect Sehun’s pup before it escapes with Jongin.

Yifan doesn’t seem to be home, but Yixing’s shoes by the door indicate he is. Chanyeol figures he’s probably sleeping as they bid their farewells, stepping back out into the cold once they exit the building, Jongin’s hand shoved in his pocket, but the leashes wrapped around his wrist pull the sleeve of his coat up, exposing the thin skin to the weather.

Chanyeol eyes the strip of skin before turning his attention away, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He wants to reach over and take the leashes, let himself suffer the bite of the cold on his wrist instead of Jongin, but he knows that Jongin trusts him with his dogs outside of a supervised environment about as much as people trust a pyromaniac with a box of matches in a wooden house drenched in gasoline without a fire extinguisher or someone to take the matches away.

They walk mostly in silence, Jongin cooing periodically at the little balls of fluff on strings. Chanyeol blames it on the cold for their lips remaining sealed, but he can’t help but wonder if he and Jongin ever talk to each other the way Yifan and Junmyeon do. He wonders if Jongin even enjoyed his company outside of their games, if they were actually as good of friends and Chanyeol wanted to believe.

The thought has his throat aching, and he looks down at the ground, shoulders hunching up just slightly. He wonders if any of his musings are true or if all of them are wrong or if—if maybe he hasn’t thought hard enough to find the actual truth.

“Are you okay, ‘Yeol?” Jongin asks, voice soft with concern lacing the curves of the letters, brow furrowed. His steps are slower, and Chanyeol unconsciously matches them, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes of the burgeoning tears he doesn’t know the source of—except he does know where they’re from, but he doesn’t want to admit to it.

“Yeah,” he laughs, but he’s never been good at lying, and now is no different. Jongin looks unconvinced, but Chanyeol keeps the false grin on until the male seems to ultimately decide that continuing to press will reap no rewards. The walk continues on in silence, and both of them resolutely pretend that nothing is wrong.

Chanyeol tries his utmost to convince himself everything’s fine even as he sits in his closet, tears silently sliding down his cheeks.

 

 

 

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

“Watch me,” Jongdae declares while standing and straightening his shirt as he stalks away towards the line, a determined set to his jaw, looking beyond frustrated with the general lack of belief in his abilities. Chanyeol almost pities Jongdae and his stubborn streak, but figures the reaction will more than make up for the suffering the male if undoubtedly going to go through.

Kyungsoo throws him an amused look from the other end of the table, and Chanyeol’s lips quirk up, unbidden, both of them ready to watch the absolute travesty the situation is going to turn into, even while Minseok’s hands flutter in the air, unsure whether or not to stop Jongdae’s ridiculous attempt or not.

Chanyeol admires their friendship.

Jongdae’s warm nature balances with Minseok’s perfectly, and when the male expressed, in passing, his sadness at Luhan not being able to go and have a coffee like usual for the rest of the week, Jongdae took it upon his shoulders to fill in the gap. The fact that Jongdae doesn’t even like coffee seems inconsequential to the male, and Chanyeol wonders if that kind of dedication has ever existed in any of the friendships he’s cultivated during his life.

Has anyone ever been this ready to make him happy?

Would anyone now put themselves in a situation they don’t like solely for Chanyeol’s benefit?

His gaze flicks over to Kyungsoo unintentionally, thoughts racing and crumbling at the same time, making a familiar pulse of tension develop at his temples. He would have once thought that maybe Kyungsoo was that person—that they would both put their own desires on the line for the other.

But, lately, that hadn’t been much the case.

He wonders if maybe he’s just projecting his insecurities onto every single one of their interactions, if maybe they are the same as they’ve always been and he’s the only one doubting their friendship. It would probably make the most sense. Kyungsoo—he hasn’t really changed since high school—or, at least, that’s what everyone tells him.

He’s changed so much, though, in Chanyeol’s opinion.

Gone was the awkwardly frustrated guy with no friends who glared at everyone whenever he forgot his glasses because he just couldn’t see. Gone was the guy that Jongin had leaned away from and said he didn’t want to hang out with. Gone was the guy that would snort at Chanyeol’s antics and roll his eyes fondly at his addiction to video games.

Or maybe he was still there.

Maybe he was the same Kyungsoo as always and Chanyeol was the one that changed. Maybe Chanyeol wasn’t the same as he was in high school. Maybe he wasn’t the fun loving gamer he used to be. Maybe he wasn’t the same gangly, awkward kid. Maybe he wasn’t the funny guy he used to be.

Maybe—just maybe—but Chanyeol didn’t want to think about that.

If he thought about that—if he thought about him being the one that changed, he being the reason he and Kyungsoo aren’t best friends anymore—it makes him wonder how long it’ll be until everyone else picks up on it and stops hanging out with him. It makes him take a look at every other relationship in his life and scrutinize them, pick them apart and analyze every single one until there’s not a word that hasn’t been considered, not a shift in eye contact that hasn’t been studied.

It makes him feel like everyone is only just barely tolerating his existence, and that’s a hard enough pill to swallow when he’s not overanalyzing every situation he’s ever been in.

Jongdae’s back in his seat now, and his barely held back gags are what pull Chanyeol out of his downward spiral, eyes wide in surprise as he watches Jongdae, flush high on his cheeks, choke down a mouthful of what—judging from the size of the cup and color—can only be an Americano with no sugar—the last part going by Jongdae’s face.

Minseok looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, even though there’s this soft fondness in his eyes that has Chanyeol’s stomach twisting and mouth watering in nausea, a desperate desire to have someone do that for him seizing him even as he turns to look away. His eyes lock with Kyungsoo’s again, accidental and unwanted, and the mirthful look on the male’s hair fades, brows furrowing and mouth turning down in—Chanyeol’s not sure. Maybe it’s judgment or scorn—or concern, a part of his mind, a part that shouldn’t be listened to, suggests—and Chanyeol isn’t sure if he wants to find out what it is, so he looks away, laughs hollowly as Jongdae valiantly swallows another mouthful, lips turning bright red from the scald of the liquid and tries to think of happy thoughts like Jongin’s dogs.

It doesn’t help entirely, but it helps enough that he feels a little less jittery when the conversation restarts once Jongdae has felt he’s sufficiently proved his point and has stopped touching his coffee that he, very obviously, hates.

He doesn’t think it’s enough for Kyungsoo, going by the not so hidden glances the male tosses his way, but Chanyeol steadfastly ignores them like he does everything else, forcing himself to look as happy as possible even when his leg won’t stop bouncing and he can’t stop picking apart every dart of the male’s eyes behind his glasses and every shift of his fingers and the set of his shoulders and—

He feels uncomfortable, suddenly—extremely and supremely uncomfortable, and his toes curl at the prickling feeling building up under his skin until he feels about ready to burst with the nonexistent excess energy, just about to splinter apart. He can’t stay, he decides, just as everyone else seems to think the same thing, and Jongdae inhales sharply as he glances at his phone, breathing out apologies to everyone as he fumbles with the device while standing, grabbing his bag from the floor and blabbering about needing to head to his class.

Minseok stands with him, offering to walk him there, grabbing his phone and pocketing it, bidding him and Kyungsoo farewell as he hurries to follow Jongdae out, holding the door with a gummy smile that has Jongdae’s own lips curling up in return. It’s just him and Kyungsoo for a beat before the male is slowly rising, looking down at his drink with some sort of contemplation before locking eyes with Chanyeol again.

And he really does feel like he’s falling apart in every sense of the word, but he’s rooted to his spot, pinned down by that dark gaze that used to bring him so much comfort and now just succeeds at making him question his entire existence.

“I should be heading out, too. I promised Sehun I’d help him with some shopping.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes are searching, boring into his, and Chanyeol can’t even open his mouth to respond, his lips just shakily stretching into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes—doesn’t come close. And, fuck, he feels like an awful person when he sees Kyungsoo’s expression fall, expression shuttering, and his heart drops straight down to the ground when the male finally looks away, down at his shoes for a beat—like he’s steeling himself.

“I guess I’ll see you later, then, ‘Yeol,” Kyungsoo whispers, and there’s a slight shake to his voice that has Chanyeol’s own voice bobbing in the confines of his mouth, a helpless squeak that’s drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop. He watches, helplessly, as Kyungsoo leaves, unable to take the defeated slump of his shoulders as anything other than disappointment—disappointment in Chanyeol and his inability to be a halfway decent friend.

He somehow makes it to his room, all three of Jongin’s dogs hopping onto the mattress with him, before he finally disintegrates into a helplessly trembling mess, fingers shaking as he rakes dull nails along the top of his scalp.

Fuck, when did things get so messed up?

 

 

 

Baekhyun is, probably, his closest friend after Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol really wishes that didn’t mean he has to avoid the guy. Avoiding Kyungsoo is a difficult enough feat when he’s trying to not make it obvious, but Baekhyun is even more difficult. The guy is insistent in his efforts to get in contact with Chanyeol, insistent on hanging out, insistent on him coming over.

But Baekhyun lives with Kyungsoo.

And that is the entire problem.

Chanyeol knows—he just does—that they talk about him, knows that Kyungsoo has probably told Baekhyun about what an awful friend he’s being, knows that they’ve probably discussed at length the degrees of Chanyeol’s smiles, analyzed whether or not they’re genuine or not.

Or, maybe, most likely, it’s just him. Maybe he’s analyzing himself, but using their eyes to do so, but that’s a ridiculous notion—right? It’s ridiculous. Who would do that? It’s not a very smart thing to do, at all.

Locking himself in the studio helps. Plugging in endless hours, sitting in the suite with nothing but his instruments and sounding board in front of him—it calms his heart, lets him breathe a bit easier. Scrawling whatever comes to his mind, crafting the notes around it, inputting notes and rhythms into the program he uses—it’s liberating.

It’s liberating until he finishes the song he’s been working on for the last few months, feeling satisfied at long last with the final product, and posts it to his SoundCloud and his entire world comes crashing down in the form of one Byun Baekhyun who all but breaks down the door of his apartment in his demand for entry just a few days later.

“Park Chanyeol, explain yourself right this fucking instant, or I will make you,” the short male exclaimed, marching in with as much righteous fury as can be contained in his body.

Chanyeol tries not to think that it’s the first time he’s seen Baekhyun in what’s probably verging on three weeks, and it makes nausea curl tight in the pit of his stomach, sweat prickling on the nape of his neck. He doesn’t want to be here at all, and he very much doesn’t want to be having this conversation. He’s not even sure what the conversation would entail, but from Baekhyun’s bloodshot eyes and clenched fists, he knows he won’t like it.

“What’s up,” he laughs—tries to, anyways—as he shifts away from his friend to head to the kitchen. Jongin’s out with Sehun at the park, walking the dogs, and Chanyeol admires the brave souls of his friends for bearing the cold for their children. He has no desire to leave the apartment, personally, and he can see the cold clinging to Baekhyun in the frosted red on the tops of his cheeks and the burn rose on his nose.

“What was with that song you posted?” Baekhyun hisses, yanking his phone out of his pocket and waving it around like it’s some sort of threatening weapon. Chanyeol blinks and it takes a while for his brain to process the words that just filtered through his ears, but once they’re good and processed, lodged in his head and rattling around like the tail of a snake, he feels his knees lose their strength, locking to keep supporting him. “Is there something you care to share with the class, Chanyeol? Because I am very much unsure of how to take this,” Baekhyun continues, and Chanyeol reaches blindly behind him for something grab onto, fingers wrapping tight around the handle to the fridge.

He can’t feel his fingertips, and the rattling in his head is just getting louder and louder, and he feels cornered—small and helpless, a lamb in the slaughterhouse—as Baekhyun approaches. And he hates that he can process the hesitation in Baekhyun’s steps, like he’s—

It’s like he’s scared.

He’s done so well up until now. He’s done so well—so well. He was careful. He thought through every action carefully, every text, every word—pondered all possible outcomes before deciding to head out the door with everyone else. He looked at the possibilities of keeping whatever the hell was wrong with him hidden.

He tried so hard.

All it took was one song—and one person who knew when he was writing from the soul, who heard the call for help before Chanyeol even knew it was one.

Their height difference is uncomfortable, but it hardly matters as Chanyeol folds forward, not yet crying but teetering on that edge, breaths ragged as Baekhyun cards long fingers through his hair, scratches carefully rounded nails along his nape, tucks his other arm under Chanyeol’s, curving up to rest in the center of his back. And he still feels small and helpless, but the cornered feeling is dissipating, leaving just his trembling organs out in the open as he inhales shakily and out pops a sob, entirely unbidden, entire body shaking as he all but crumbles into Baekhyun’s hold.

He doesn’t notice when the door opens, doesn’t notice when others walk in.

He can only feel Baekhyun’s arms around him, his soothing voice in his ear, as he chokes on the air around him, sliding thick down his throat like molasses and making the next harder than the one before, lungs shaking and pulsing, like holey balloons—unable to properly inflate despite valiant attempts.

He thinks he can hear the clatter of nails on the floor, but he doesn’t have the energy, the strength to look up—not when he’s suddenly so, so tired. He’s tired of looking at the world around him and feeling so entirely unsure, feeling so completely unworthy—a pebble that should have remained on the ocean floor, silt swept away by the current. He’s tired of looking at Kyungsoo and not knowing where they stand, of not knowing if he’s the one that fired the canons on their relationship.

He’s tired of seeing the defeated slump of his shoulders and the empty eyes, the furrowed brows of concern and the downturned lips. He’s tired of seeing it and thinking—he did this. He did this. He’s an awful friend. He doesn’t know the first thing about what has been happening in Kyungsoo’s life, doesn’t know if he’s been suffering, struggling, fighting. He doesn’t know if Kyungsoo’s been eating, doesn’t know if he’s holding his own in his classes.

He’s tired of feeling like a fraud in the very relationships he forged.

He’s just so tired.

There’s warmth on all sides, and he thinks he’s blabbering, thinks there are words scraping out past the tightness in his throat, but he can’t be sure, can’t hear a word—can’t process any of it. He’s floating in this endless abyss of indecision and insecurity, and he can’t take the world around him anymore, can’t handle it anymore. All he knows is that he’s just so done.

He’s just done.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo never used to make him anxious. He used to be his source of comfort, his best friend, the one he would turn to when he needed someone for anything. He was his partner in crime, his wingman, his ultimate. He doesn’t know when exactly that changed, doesn’t know when their conversations stopped to inspire warmth, but started to stress him out. He doesn’t know when their words started to become stilted, broken by long pauses of uncomfortable silence.

He doesn’t know when Kyungsoo’s stares stopped being a warm weight on his shoulders and turned into the weight of a thousand tons on his shoulders, pressing in from all directions. He doesn’t know when Kyungsoo’s hands turned from soft caresses to burning shocks of electricity that had him flinching away because—he wasn’t the one that needed this. He was supposed to be there for Kyungsoo. That was the point.

And, sitting in front of Kyungsoo right now, Chanyeol felt very much ill at ease.

Had he done this to them?

Was the deteriorating bridge between them his doing?

Is this what he had done?

“Chanyeol, you have to talk to me,” Kyungsoo whispers, low voice vibrating through the columns of Chanyeol’s ribs, a pleasant tingle down his spine that ends in his stomach shivering and fingers curling in discomfort. “Why,” the male starts, but cuts off almost as abruptly—the stilts in the conversation, as usual—brow creasing, lips pursing.

“We’re not as close as we used to be,” he blurts out into the thick silence, hissing in a breath through his teeth and firmly clamping his lips shut once the words are out, his own eyebrows drawing together in horror of what he had just admitted to.

The bewilderment and befuddlement that brushes Kyungsoo’s cheeks and dampens the fragile hope that had been in his eyes is all the confirmation Chanyeol needs that he—and he alone—did this. He single handedly questioned and dissected his relationship with Kyungsoo into oblivion.

“What,” Kyungsoo breathes, lips trembling just slightly, and Chanyeol wishes he wasn’t paying such close attention. He doesn’t want to see what he’s done. He doesn’t want to witness the final nail in the coffin he had so lovingly made, all the while having blamed Kyungsoo for it—having questioned Kyungsoo because of it.

He is an, officially, awful friend.

“Chanyeol—you’re still my best friend,” Kyungsoo begins, hedges, more like, and Chanyeol feels like the airs been punched out of him because he can see the earnestness in his expression, can practically feel the genuine tone in the air—the confusion palpable between them.

But he doesn’t believe it.

Something in his messed up mind, in his trembling thoughts, still doubts this, doubts Kyungsoo, doubts them, and that has Chanyeol wanting to run out of them more than anything else that has happened in the entirety of his life. The defeated slump of Kyungsoo’s shoulders is still there, more pronounced now; the hollowness of his dark eyes sending shivers racing along his skin.

Chanyeol wants to run.

He feels like a failure, like he’s just gone ahead and messed up his one constant. The man whose been with him since high school, through thick and thin, who was there when he would fall and who would always pick him back up—he’s managed to somehow drive that man away. He’s managed to degrade that man in his mind so far that he doesn’t know if the Kyungsoo he processes seeing before him is the same one from his memories or not.

But maybe his memories are also messed up?

Maybe he isn’t remembering things as they were. But he knows he is, knows that because everyone else confirms it. And when did it get to the point where others can see his life far more clearly than he can? When did it get to the point that Chanyeol feels wholly unable to understand the very direction his life is taking and the relationships held therein?

When did it get to this?

“You’re my best friend, too,” he croaks when he finally manages to get his voice out, manages to get a vibration going long enough to be somewhat understandable.

The hope is back again, and Kyungsoo is shifting forward, their knees brushing. It’s not the same comforting warmth as before, but it’s not the burning shock of electricity either. It’s just there—simply existing in a space that neither is or isn’t. It drives Chanyeol sort of mad, but grounds him as well. And that’s pretty fitting.

Kyungsoo has always been his anchor.

“Then, let’s fix this,” Kyungsoo presses, gently, softly, always so kind and ready to provide. Chanyeol hates it, hates that feels inadequate in the face of it—hates that he feels like he needs it, needs it so much he might break without it. “Let’s fix this between us, okay, ‘Yeol?”

His breaths are shaky and loud to his ears even though he doubts that they’re much more than a whisper in the silence between them. His nod rattles his brain, jerks at the strands of his hair, and makes the tension in his shoulders climb up his neck. But he means it, too—the simple gesture, the sharp jerk. He wants to fix this. He wants to keep Kyungsoo in his life. He wants to not second guess every aspect of them, every interaction, every look, every breath—every word. He wants. He wants. He wants.

He doesn’t—

He doesn’t want.

He—

“I don’t want to lose you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it!
> 
> andy, this probably wasn't the kind of chansoo you wanted, but you didn't specify when i asked what kind, so it's kind of your fault. enjoy your late, late, late birthday gift!
> 
> (find me on twitter @kxmjxngs)
> 
> let me know what you guys thought in the comments below! <3


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